


Noughts and Crosses

by lferion



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Yuletide, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just how far would Gabriel go to gain Lymond?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noughts and Crosses

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Yuletide 2007 yuletide treat for kaeda.  
> Many thanks to Tree, beta above and beyond the call.

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"What must I do to persuade you?" Gabriel's voice was soft and unexpectedly close. Startled, Jerott looked up from the trunk he was half-buried in, digging for the spare flints Cuddy Hob had been unable to find. A shaft of watery light illuminated the far side of the storeroom. Bright-edged shadows resolved into two figures, aureoled in gold. Gabriel's magnificent shoulders blocked the other's face from view. They must have come in while he'd had his head in the trunk.

The other man said something Jerott could not make out. Gabriel went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Francis. There is nothing I will not do to aid this cause. You know that."

Jerott froze. Lymond. Gabriel and Lymond. Gabriel obviously did not know there was anyone else in this out of the way storeroom. Why were _they_ in this storeroom?

Lymond's voice was still low, but the cutting edge was apparent. "Malett, we have had this discussion. No."

"Do you need proof, then? Action to do what my words have not?"

The light changed, brightened as Gabriel moved from the window. Now Jerott could see Lymond as Gabriel used his superior height to crowd him into the space between the window and the wall. There was a look of something frightening in his face, almost resigned.

Lymond's "no" was swallowed by Gabriel's mouth, flattened and devoured by lips and hands as Jerott watched, forgetting to breathe. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to, and now it was paramount that he be still, invisible.

Gabriel pressed Lymond against the stones, and Jerott was suddenly, viscerally reminded of being in the same position, pressed against those thin bones, lithe muscles, fine skin, in the stifling heat of the catacombs. Reminded of the jolt of unexpected hard length that had met his thigh, striking fire in his own groin, a desire, a need so strong he could hardly breathe for it, and then Lymond had gone, eeled around the corner and further down into the inferno. Jerott swallowed, held his breath, tried desperately to ignore his sudden aching arousal.

Gabriel was still kissing Lymond, his mouth a weapon. Big hands were busy at Lymond's clothes, undoing his trews, pushing away wool and linen to get at flesh. Then his own hose, opened enough to reveal Gabriel's prick, swollen and purple. Gabriel was licking his hand, slicking his shaft.

Jerott forgot why he was in the storeroom at all. He tried to look away, to not see. His mind was in turmoil and his flesh aflame. He held himself still with an effort of will. They must not know he was there. They must never know he had witnessed this.

"You want this, man. You've been hard for me since Tripoli."

Gabriel pulled Lymond's trews down roughly, gripping his shirt and pressed him to his knees. He had one hand busily fisting Lymond's prick and the other, wet with from his tongue, searching out his arse. Lymond arched and his hips jerked as the seeking fingers thrust in and out. Pressed to the floor now, arse held in the air by Gabriel's thick arm around his waist, Gabriel's broad hand still squeezing and pumping. Lymond pillowed his face in the curve of his elbow, turned toward the wall.

"So responsive, so tight and hot." Gabriel twisted his fingers and pulled them away to position himself. "You will come for me. You like this too well." With a grunt, he sheathed himself in Lymond, a grimace of ecstasy on his fine features.

Jerott held his breath, his own arse clenched, his prick like iron.

Gabriel pulled back and thrust in, hard and fast. He leaned forward over Lymond's back, breathing in his ear, biting at his shoulders where his shirt had fallen away at the neck. His hips pounded as he rutted and plowed. "Mine" he growled between thrusts. "Mine." Lymond was silent, his breath harsh.

Then Gabriel broke his rhythm, slamming into Lymond one last time, muscles bunching, neck corded, grunting as he came. But his hand continued to pull at Lymond's prick, and now he was moving almost gently, flexing against Lymond's arse. "Yes," Gabriel hissed. "That's it. That's it."

Lymond shuddered and jerked, coming with a soft, almost pained sound under Gabriel's inexorable ministrations. Gabriel chuckled with a dark glee that made Jerott wince and lifted himself off of Lymond's back, keeping his hips pressed hard against Lymond's arsecheeks. A purple bruise was blooming on Lymond's neck.

Something bright in Gabriel's hand flashed briefly. There was a short, sharp gasp, quickly choked off. Gabriel's strong arm flexed and tensed, making small movements out of Jerott's angle of view. Lymond made no more sounds, though Jerott thought he could hear the uneven cadence of someone's breath. Then Gabriel wiped the knife on Lymond's shirt where it rucked up, leaving a smear of red. A heavy pat of a hand, and Gabriel was withdrawing. He stood, arranging his shirt-tails, tucking himself away looking down at Lymond. "Nothing I will not do to gain you."

Lymond had not moved, his face still turned away. His voice was utterly even. "Tis nought but flesh, no meat of mind, no saving spirit, this." He uncoiled from the floor, turning and kneeling up with effortless, practiced movement. His expression was mocking, and the flat chill in his eyes boded ill for someone later.

Gabriel flushed. Bafflement clouded his brow for a moment then his jaw hardened. "I will have you, marked and mine." He glared down at the fey and dangerous creature he had fucked to no apparent gain. "Depend upon it." He turned and was gone.

"I think not." Lymond said quietly after him. "I _know_ not." His eyes closed for a moment and he swallowed, the grey light shadowing the lines of his face. When he stood, Jerott could see the effort it took. When he turned and bent to retrieve his trews, his shirt slipped forward and the light fell full on the curve of his arse, where an eight-sided cross, small and perfect and damning, was neatly incised in his skin. The cuts were only just beginning to bleed through the sooty dust that had followed the blade in Gabriel's hand.

Gabriel's mark.

When, months later, Jerott saw the crude twin of that mark on Lymond's breast, it was somehow not a surprise.

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End file.
